


your protector

by reddy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard, Bodyguard Romance, F/M, Jon has a violent streak, Modern AU, Pining, R plus L equals J, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, they don't know they're related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 10:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12479468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddy/pseuds/reddy
Summary: She is just the girl he has to protect, nothing more. It's only a job. He won't get attached. Will he? (bodyguard AU)





	your protector

**Author's Note:**

> *waves nervously* just your average lurker on tumblr who decided to make an account because Jonsa. i love writing so i figured i'd combine my passions and write something for them. i hope you find this interesting. also, in this story, ned arranged for jon to be ashara dayne's son (with the father remaining unknown). after her death, ned keeps tabs on him, but he's not a father figure for jon. it will make sense a bit later. let me know if i should continue?

***

She’s been crying. He can tell.

Normally, Sansa is very meticulous about her face. She’s always careful to conceal any splotches or excessive redness. She does not reveal emotion, especially the negative kind. But tonight, she’s slipped up. She didn’t have time to put on a good mask. There is wetness on her eyelashes like fresh dew at dawn.

He tries not to stare in the rear-view mirror. It’s not part of his job to ask her if she’s all right, but he doesn’t like it when women cry. And Sansa, well, she’s under his protection, isn’t she? Someone hurt her, and he couldn’t stop it.

She’s looking out the window, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

Jon switches lanes, leaving the main street behind.

“Could you – not take me home right now?”

Her voice comes from behind him like a hoarse whisper and his hand clenches on the steering wheel. He doesn’t like this. He needs to know what happened to her.

“Where do you want to go, Ms. Stark?” he asks in his usual deferential manner.

“Somewhere quiet. Maybe out by the woods, we could sit there for a while, if you don’t mind?”

She’s pulled up her legs to her chest and she’s cradling herself in her arms. His jaw clicks and he moves his eyes away from the rear-view mirror.

“That’s not a very safe area at this time of night.”

Sansa smiles wryly. “Lucky for me I have you.”

 

There are only warehouses and dilapidated buildings in this part of town, but he can understand the appeal of decay. The woods do not come gently. They appear on the outskirts violently, tall firs and gnarled oak trees towering above civilization. The forest is dark and patches of snow hang from the branches, leaking on the black ground below. They look like tears.

It’s not warm enough to go out without a winter coat but she pushes the door open in her swede jacket and thin stockings and takes a few hesitant steps towards the forest. She wants to have a moment by herself.

Jon leans against the side door and lights up a cigarette, protecting it from the wind with his palm.

His collar itches. He doesn’t feel the cold yet.

He cranes his head and stares at the sky. Bruise-red winter clouds shift and form and crumble.  It all looks like a war is happening up there, but down here it’s quiet. The streets and alleys are almost deserted. He can feel the cool weight of his gun in the pocket of his vest.  It gives him a sense of compliance with the universe.

He risks a look in her direction. She’s standing by one of the trees, red hair whipping in the wind, her hand on the cold trunk, as if feeling for a heartbeat.

He exhales and the smoke curls up into the night.

The likeliest culprit for her chagrin would be Joffrey Lannister. That little twitching asshole. He’s never liked him. From the first moment he laid eyes on him at that party, he knew he was a spoiled brat with a small cock and too much power on his hands to compensate. Sansa didn’t see it at first, because she expects the best of people. She also wants to please everyone, even if they don’t deserve it. He used to hold her in contempt for that, he used to think she was just a naïve little girl who craved everyone’s approval. He still thinks that sometimes, but he knows her a bit better now.

When Jon first took the job to protect Ned Stark’s eldest daughter, he didn’t feel right about it. It seemed odd to him that the owner of the biggest oil rig on the coast wanted a low-level cadet who’d left the Army to look after his kid.

But Ned Stark seemed to know a lot about him from the beginning. He knew he studied at the Night’s Watch Academy and finished his training there. He knew he’d been top of his class. He’d asked for his file specifically. It made Jon wonder why he was being given special treatment, but all Stark could offer him was that he’d known his mother, Ashara, a long time ago and he owed her a favor.

Not that his mother could verify, seeing as she was dead. She’d passed away when he was only a babe. It was quite convenient that way. Jon suspected there was more to it than that. But he took the job, because he needed one badly, and if he wanted to find out what all this secrecy was about, he’d have to stick close to the family. He’d heard about Stark Industries before, it’s not like you could avoid them in this part of the country. He’d never imagined working for them, though. With his specific set of skills he wasn’t fit to have a regular job. Active combat had only made that worse.  Driving around a young girl and keeping her safe suddenly sounded like a pretty good deal.

He just hadn’t been ready for, well… _this_ part. The part where the girl is sad and teary-eyed and he’s the only one there with her.

Jon takes off his coat. He walks slowly to where she is standing at the edge of the woods. She’s shivering imperceptibly.

He places the coat silently on her shoulders, swipes it down her arms, but doesn’t touch her more than he has to.

He takes a step back.

Sansa clutches at the coat. “Thank you, Jon.”

“We should probably go,” he says behind her.

“In a minute. I promise.”

He times it on his phone – a minute exactly. And she is punctual, because that’s how she was raised.

He finds it irritating and slightly pitiful how much of a young lady she is.

He drives the car into the garage, waiting for the lights to turn on.

Sansa leans forward, gathering her things from the back seat.

“He – he called me a whore tonight.”

Jon freezes at the wheel. _What?_

“He said that’s what I’m meant to be, and the sooner I’ll accept it, the better.”

His ears are ringing. He’s supposed to step down and open the door for her, but he’s unable to, for the moment. 

Sansa shifts in her seat. “…I can’t tell anyone else. Especially Mum and Dad. They’d be disappointed. I just wanted _someone_ to know.”

His throat is dry. He wants to get out of the car and carry on with his duties. He wants to turn around and drive back to the Lannisters and – do what? Break that little shit’s teeth?

_You don’t have to keep going with him_ , he wants to say, as a kind of sorry comfort. But he knows that would be a lie. Stark Industries have run into considerable debt, despite their large holdings. Their survival depends on Lannister support. Sansa can’t afford to alienate the heir.

“You’re not…” he starts stupidly. But then he rectifies. “You can tell me if he hurts you.”

Sansa laughs bitterly. “Thank you, Jon.”

He may be her bodyguard, but he can’t protect her _there_ and they both know it.

_Did he touch you?_ he wants to ask, but can’t. Of course Joffrey touched her. She is his girlfriend. But there are so many different kinds of touches. So many ways to touch.

He hates feeling powerless. He doesn’t want to care about the Stark girl and her troubles, but every day it’s getting a little harder.

She gives him back his coat as slips out of the car.

Later, as he puts it on, it still smells like her.

 

Later still, as he lies in bed and surveys the cracks in the ceiling, he pictures bashing Joffrey’s head in. He pictures taking a slim aluminum bat to his head until only gristle and bone remain. It’s not a passionate murder. It would only take a few swings. He could do it without breaking a sweat.

But that’s not who he is. His imagination may run wild, but his temperament is steady. He won’t carry out any vendettas. He won’t mete out violence. He is not invested in her personal welfare, not like _that_. He has to keep her safe, within the limits of the job. That’s all he can do.

_He called me a whore tonight._

Jon squeezes his eyes shut. It’s just a job.


End file.
